If you follow my blog, you would know that I hate the Poppy Flower. Aside from it’s sweet, sweet, ever so sweet, Herion, the flower remains an anomaly regarding photography. However, I noticed that the flower is very versatile, the pedals are endowed with the ability to be soft, luscious, smooth, and graceful, yet stable. 10 minutes later the plant begins to wilt, close up, the pedals dry, wrinkle, and become limp.

It seems to be a flower that drastically goes through the entropy of death very quickly after the snap of it’s stem, more so than any other plant I know. In that regard, I honor the Poppy Flower, it isn’t afraid to show itself, and when the pedals limp it sends the message of decay, death, and the ultimate thing every organism on earth has in common. I learned from the Poppy, I took in its message and conveyed it through my own means of conscience.

Aside from the pedals, wilting and dying off, when you look at a poppy that still is connected to it’s roots, after the pedal falls the bulb continues to grow. It’s amazing. This plant continues to grow after it’s youthful layering bonds fall, decrepit onto the flow, it does not give up because of some superficial main-stream flower ordeal and neither does it turn into an aged fruit, sweet, bitter, and ripe. Nope, it continues growing the bulb. That ugly bulb continues to grow, a metaphor for its inner self-worth, self-importance, self righted concocted individuality to hinder and displease those who seek a flower or fruit. It’s in its own personal pursuit for life, amidst the common flowering plants.

The fate of the bulb is thus sealed behind two doors. Whether it be to wither and die as an ugly, but fulfilling bulb or to be lashed and brutalized and bleed it’s nectar of transcendental life within the form of composite Heroin. I am not a Heroin junky, though bear with me because I am just free thinking right now.

“Who say’s I can’t?! Ha.”

Without the necessities of comforting to a norm, the bulb centers on its own individual pursuits and knowledge. Outside, in the sun, in the dark, bellowed by wind, undisrupted by sound, what more could someone ask for a place to idle and think. This is not to say that the plants have consciousness, however, bleeding edge quantum dynamics state that atoms react with consciousness, it could be that scientifically plants may also be able to think and articulate. Why not? They already are able to react to the surroundings by unleashing chemicals to talk and warn other plants of certain things: like a plant fart.

Regardless, of plant farts, that knowledge or chemical composites are bled out of the poppy bulb through lashings. It is than collected, stored, cooked, than mixed, and presto a psychedelic drug is formed. Strange huh? Why can plants create these composites in the first place?

From the intelligence, the thought, the idle provocation, these items are ingested by humans and commences an elevated state of mind, body, and transcendental state of reactions. A form of Heroin is commonly used by Shamans in the northern portions of India, where they would go off into the desert and try to communicate and seek enlightenment through answers from the nature and stars that surround them. It’s often seen that some of the science of consciousness and even Quantum physics find similarities with Shamanistic and spiritual teachings and thoughts of Eastern civilization.

I see psychedelics as a way to experience a level of thought or feeling above our current state of the consciousness. Though, it truly depends on the person who is using it, and why they are using it. Since the brain and psychedelics are symbiont during the experience, the state of mind determines the state of acquirence from the chemicals. Whether it be to bask with the chemicals in a desert to seek enlightenment from answers of the consciousness of atoms, plants, and stars, or for it to end up in a needle in the back-alleys of civilization to grant a high to block the entropy and hardships of life, or to be distilled and seen within a Poppy bulb and wonder of one of life’s mysteries. Everyone and everything has something to tell.

But I still despise the Poppy Flower. It can’t even stand up right! You would think enlightenment would at least do that: another little mystery, probably the only one I don’t care to discover.

Poppy-cock I say!

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